Ripping a Spider From His Web (Often Brings Tragedy)
by Texmex007
Summary: This is a WIP. For WishesAtMidnight to look at. Just a bunch of diff chaps together. Jim is a young child in the beginning, kidnapped because he is special by a pre-Golden Compass Mrs. Coulter to induce him with DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) in order to influence his daemon's shape. Reddington saves him later on. OCxJim and Johnlock with a side of Lestrade. Again, WIP.
1. Chapter 1

Triggers: Abduction, Child abuse, sexual abuse, physical abuse, Rape, verbal assault

Tags: AU, Daemons, very AU, Follows along with The Golden Compass plot, Set in Lyra's World, But the clothing style is different in some respects, Some places names are made up a little, You'll see, It still follows the same route when introducing John and Sherlock, does that make sense?, I hope that made sense, You'll see, Jim is a very special child, Jim is a survivor, I think I cried at least five times while writing this, serious pain in the beginning, I Am So SORRY, I swear I love Jim Moriarty, He's my favorite villain ever, I heart Jimmyjam, induced mental disorders, crime, so much crime, Reddington is a saint, as in the patron saint of Crime, Reddington is amazing and you can't tell me differently, eventual revenge, Concierge Criminal helping out a baby Consulting Criminal, Criminal family, Casefic, Kid!Jim, Teenage!Jim, Adult!Jim, Plot, plot, plot, plotty, so very plotty, Call me "Plotmaster", read the tags, they are important,

Characters: Jim Moriarty, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Phil Anderson, Sally Donovan, Irene Adler, Anthea, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper, Raymond Reddington, Dembe Zuma, Elizabeth Keen, Tom Keen, Donald Ressler, Aram Mojtabai, Glen, Harold Cooper, Samar Navabi, OFCS, OMCS,

Relationships: Mike Stamford/Molly Hooper, John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade/Mycroft Holmes, Elizabeth Keen/Tom Keen, Jim Moriarty/OFC

Notes: at the bottom Kertoja "Narrator" [Finnish]

At the top, if possible While Britain is spelled "Brytain" in the series and on the given world map, the smaller places are not mentioned to have specific names. Therefore, Ireland is still spelled the same, as well as all other countries that are not otherwise changed in name.

Information needed to write this story: MPD is hypothesized to be caused by severe childhood trauma that creates a mental split or "dissociation" as a defense against that trauma (Spanos, 1994). The different personalities that occur are called alters. These different parts develop separately and in adulthood help the sufferer deal with stress by expressing resentment or help calm the main personality. Each patient possesses two or more selves and each identity has its own mood, memories, behaviors, and experiences.

and the trauma is so severe that the individual creates multiple identities to cope with it (Spanos, 1994). The severe trauma is thought to be a result of physical or sexual abuse in childhood. Likewise, most modern patients are women who have been diagnosed with other disorders before being diagnosed with MPD. This is because the intense trauma caused by abuse may create other disorders as well.

Characteristics such as hypnotizability, absorption, fantasy proneness, and some aspects of openness to experience (Spiegel, & Cardeña 1991). These can be risk factors for dissociative problems.

also theorized about when vulnerability was at its highest. The developmental window of vulnerability is 18 months to 8 years old-This is important because it helps to predict how many alters may appear. The above characteristics are easily found in small children. There is a significant negative correlation between the age of appearance of an alter personality and the number of personalities.

Dissociative Experiences Scale measures are related to: amnesia, depersonalization/derealization, and absorption.

Amnesia is evidence that an individual has engaged in complex behavior that they have no memory of or the experience of "snapping out of it" in the middle of an activity and having little or no idea how they got there. Depersonalization or derealization is out of body experiences and other extreme forms of amnesia. Absorption is losing contact with current surroundings.

 **The development of dissociative identity disorder is understood to be a result of several factors:**

Recurrent episodes of severe physical, emotional or sexual abuse in childhood.

Absence of safe and nurturing resources to overwhelming abuse or trauma.

Ability to dissociate easily.

Development of a coping style that helped during distress and the use of splitting as a survival skill.

While abuse is frequently present, it cannot be assumed that family members were involved in the abuse.

Symptoms

Unexplained events and inability to be aware of them (such as finding yourself somewhere without remembering how you got there or new clothes that you have no recollection of buying).

Frequent bouts of memory loss or "lost time."

Inability to remember large parts of childhood.

Sudden return of memories, as in a flashback and/or flashback to traumatic events.

Episodes of feeling disconnected or detached from one's body and thoughts.

Hallucinations (sensory experiences that are not real, such as hearing voices talking to you or talking inside your head).

"Out of body" experiences.

Suicide attempts or self-injury.

Differences in handwriting from time to time.

Changing levels of functioning, from highly effective to nearly disabled.

Basically, the child ring is an organization about seeing if it is possible to make a child who, because it has DID, have different daemons when reaching adolescence due to the break in personality. To cause a break in personality, or Dissociative Identity Disorder, forms of abuse such as physical and sexual must be taken.

After months and months of testing, they have no success. Then, after consulting with the Witches, they are given information that helps: They will only succeed if they find a twin who ate their sibling in the womb. The General Oblation Board searches the local areas in Brytain and find that James Moriarty was a twin who did just that.

They plan to take him when he is younger, but his father-who is a part of the General Oblation Board is in the way. He is sent to Svalbard to help find a place to install the institute where they will put Bolvanger later on to get him out the way and Jim's Mom at work, to plant a body and make it look like Jim was killed in an accidental fire.

They capture Jim, and put him through the process of physical, sexual, and emotional abuse to induce DID into the boy for the time that it takes-6-8 years old.

When he turns thirteen, he reaches adolescence, and Kertoja settles. The program succeeds with Jim, and Jim only, since his situation is so rare. When in his dominant personality Kertoja is a Magpie.

When he is "Richard Brooke", Kertoja changes into a Wolverine, no longer Kertoja but "Skydas".

When he is "Seamus Moriarty" Kertoja changes into a Red kneed tarantula named "Cahira".

Seamus Moriarty is aware of Jim, and Richard. He is aware. He calls Jim and Richard his "Twins" implying that he is a triplet.

The Major (Bill) Red and him had a falling out over Jim Moriarty when Major tries to recruit Jim because Jim has potential to be a spy and something more cause he is intelligent and Red was like,

"Lollol how about NO."

And kept Jim safe from him even as Major tried to bribe Reddington.

At the same time, Jake, later known as Tom Keen, is brought in (around 1994)

Bill( The Major) has Tom Keen and then later on we know that Tom Keen was bought out by Reddington to be with Elizabeth. Then Berlin employed Tom and all Hades broke loose and Red got angry and wants to find Tom.

Doctor Selma Orchard helps Reddington to block Jim's memories to the best of his abilities when he gets out of the child ring, making him mostly stable as just Jim—but slowly the memories come back through flash backs because he is scratching at the "wall" in his mind. Moriarty comes back, and so does Richard.

So Jim has two -Richard Brooke-who protects him from the evils of the world by taking over and enduring the brunt of the abuse dished out at Jim during his time in the child ring.

Seamus Moriarty is his other one, who attacks and destroys those who hurt him. We don't know about him until the pool incident.

Jim killed Carl Powers in 1989, when he was 11 years old. It happened at a London pool, ruled out as an accidental drowning.

What happened was, Carl saw the marks and deformities due to Jim's tragic past during the time needed to change for gym at school, and made fun of him for it, and made fun of his daemon, too.

At the mention of his daemon, Jim's alter-Moriarty-awakens, and planned revenge with the help of Reddington who suggested "something simple." Moriarty decided to use botulinum poison to kill him through the use of eczema medicine after he observes Carl using it after gym one day, and realizes that the skin cream must have some sort of chemical that aids the absorption rate of the medication into the skin, and decides to use botulinum so that the boy's nerves will lock up and he will "drown" accidentally when they go on a field trip to a local London pool where Carl drowns.

He then takes his shoes because Moriarty wants to remember it, although Jim has no idea.

Before this time, Reddington gets a hold of him and teaches him the ways of crime, since he can see it is not going to go away in the young boy's life.

~EXCERPT FROM STORY~

So ever since she was little, Sierra has been dreaming repeatedly of a trifold mirror, in which she is forced by an unseen entity to stand in front of, the scenery around her dim and bleak, a holding cell of sorts that offer no pity nor kindness. As she stares into the mirror, she sees that in the middle her reflection is the same, but as she looks from side to side she sees that in the left mirror her clothes are gone, her stance is a defensive curl and her face is hidden behind a curtain of dark hair. As she looks to the right, she sees that her clothes are intact, but this time she is wearing business attire, her white blouse soiled with a mixture of dried brown blood and fresh crimson stains and she instinctively knows that neither are hers.

~EXCERPT FROM STORY~

In this dream, Sierra found herself in the middle of vast tundra, not unlike the outskirts of her native country Texas. She was dressed up as if she were going to work, wearing a scarlet red blouse, jeans, and boots, but her badge and gun were gone. She spent a second searching for them on her person, but after not finding them she gave up and continued walking cautiously. The sun above beat down on her laboriously, yet she didn't even work up a sweat. Libertas was nowhere to be found; and although Sierra could not see her, she could still somehow feel her presence as the Witches do with their bird daemons.

She continued her trek, her mind supplying her with the one command she needed to follow: _find_.

 _'find what?'_ she thought, the intensity to find whatever it was she was looking for doubling and tripling as she passed more and more dead brush and dry rock. Up ahead of her she could see a small patch of green grass growing in a small, tight circle around something that was too far ahead for her to make out entirely. Fire ignited in her bones at that moment, energy coursed through her veins like lightning and without knowing why, she ran as if someone's life depended on her to reach it. The scenery blurred past her in her haste until she stopped short in front of the mysterious object that seemed to bring at least a little visible life to the desolate tundra she stood in.

It was a shamrock plant, she realized, and a rather odd one too, as she noticed that each of the three petals bore a distinctly different shade of green-one was yellow-green, one was a deep, emerald green, and the last one was brownish-green, as if it were dying and threatening to spread to the other two. She kneeled in front of the plant and touched each of its petals with tentative, light touches, especially careful around the sickly looking one, afraid to damage the entire plant and destroy what good had been made to sustain such a desolate place.

 _'take it.'_ a male, Irish voice whispered softly into her ear. She turned to see the owner of the voice, but no one was there. Remembering his words, she grabbed the bottom of the stem and plucked it from the ground. Suddenly the small circle of green began to expand before her eyes until she could look around and see no more dry cracked earth, but luscious green grass, bushes, trees, flowers, everywhere she looked as if a veil had been lifted. She impulsively pressed a feather-like kiss to each petal, feeling as if she were a child again, hoping with all her might that the third and most in danger of dying would heal as she kissed it as well.

 _'thank you.'_ said the voice from before as she cradled the shamrock in her hands.

Sierra awoke with a start and sat up ramrod straight in her bed, panting as though she had just finished taking down a fleeing suspect. The large, furry white creature curled up next to her lifted its head and stared at her for a minute before speaking.

"Was it the same one?" the Arctic wolf asked quietly, sympathetically sweeping her tail minutely from side to side, ready to crawl into her human's lap if so needed.

"No." Sierra replied, her hand involuntarily reaching out to curl into her daemon's scruff. She took another deep breath and forced her muscles to relax as she leaned forward to prop her elbows onto her thighs.

"Libertas," she breathed, "I had a different vision this time."

Libertas immediately stilled, her tail swept up by her hind legs as she waited for her to explain. Sierra looked up into her daemon's brown eyes which bore the exact hue as hers and began to explain in detail of what she had experienced.

"What do you think?"

Libertas' tail swept back and forth as she thought, and then, "I believe it's connected with the other vision."

"How so?"

"Well, the motif of the number three is a repeating figure," Libertas explained, "I believe that it is connected-your vision involving the trifold mirrors and this vision of the shamrock, although I'm not sure how. You said the voice sounded as if he were Irish?"

Sierra nodded.

"Well, the shamrock is the national flower of Ireland," Libertas explained, "and if he's Irish, then it makes sense."

"I couldn't have made that up, could I?" Sierra asked wearily, a shaky hand pushing back curly tendrils of hair away from her face, "It just sounded so real, as if someone else was with me. I could feel him whisper it like he was standing next to me, but when I turned to look there was no one there."

"It is entirely possible that you did not make it up." Libertas assured her.

Sierra sighed wistfully, "It was a lovely voice," she murmured, "I don't think I'll forget it any time soon."

Libertas chuckled, "No, I reckon you won't, not with your love of that particular accent. Isn't that why we moved to Brytain in the first place?"

"You and I both know that ain't true." Sierra drawled, smacking her playfully with a pillow and settled back into bed for the night, "Alright, we have a big day tomorrow, let's get some sleep."

The two Texan gals curled back up together in bed, and did just that.

~EXCERPT FROM STORY~

The lab was rather quiet and void of conversation, but where words were lacking, the shuffling of papers, scratching of pen on paper and the ever present hum of the air conditioner filled in the need for sound as Sierra walked back into the room with a tray full of drinks for the group.

She carefully placed each order in front of the individual on their dominant hand's side before sinking into her chair with her own cup of hot chocolate. No one said a word, nor did anyone even look up from their work, except their daemons, but it was expected. There was now a fourth homicide victim in their case and they only so much time before another woman would be murdered. Libertas sat on her haunches next to Sierra as the Texan held the most recent crime scene alongside the previous three in her lap, allowing the white wolf daemon to get a better look.

Sierra examined the photos repeatedly, raking her eyes over the pictures before closing her eyes and focusing on the crime scene again just as she had when she visited them earlier today while simultaneously writing down information relevant to the victim in her notebook, her eyes never leaving the scene of the crime and her writing never leaving the confines of the lines. With her focus solely on the pictures, she couldn't see the curious eyes watching her hand with mixed reactions ranging from awe to jealousy. After she finished, she looked up and blinked as she realized she was being watched by the group.

"I believe I have a profile built," She announced, turning to the side of the table that contained Lestrade and his officers as well as Sherlock, "Did ya'll receive my profile on the Victimology earlier today?"

"Yes, we did," Greg answered as he pulled out a file from his briefcase, "I made copies like you asked." He quickly passed out the extra files and motioned for her to proceed in explaining the Victimology.

Sierra stood up and placed her palms on the table, looking down at the paper for a brief second before meeting everyone's eyes. "Alright. The Victimology says that our unsub is looking for single, brunette, Caucasian women between the ages of 25 to 30. So far, these women have proven to be low-risk, meaning their jobs don't typically lead them to be targeted."

"Take Amanda for example," she picked up the second victim's file, "she was a preschool teacher. Beverly," she put Amanda's file down and picked up the most recent victim's file, "was a dentist. Hannah was an accountant and Marie worked as a real-estate agent."

"Each of these women proved successful in their careers, and lived alone. Each murder took place at random times during the day, which means that whatever job he has must allow him to take enough time to murder them. He also knows these women, but not in the conventional sense. He watches them, studies them, and waits for the opportunity to strike."

"How do you know that he's watching them?" Anderson asked with a slightly upraised hand. Sherlock rolled his eyes grandiosely and was about to point out the reason why when John looked at him and placed a discreet but heavy hand on the taller man's knee under the table, effectively shutting him up. Sierra gave John a soft, grateful smile before continuing.

"Well, this unsub is highly organized," Sierra explained, "He even brings a murder kit with him when he's ready to kill-the tape, rope, and knife. An organized killer like ours will not strike unless he knows he will be safe to kill her. So he watches, and waits, and learns her schedule to the 'T' and picks out the most convenient time for him to strike."

"You said the suspect's job allows him the liberty to kill these women," Jim said after there was a slight pause in conversation, "what kind of job are we looking at then?"

"Well," she replied, "certainly not a desk job- that is for sure. So something that deals with wheels, and can still come off as inconspicuous to the neighborhood."

She paused, tilting her head in thought before she continued, careful not to look at Molly, "Also, as ya'll have probably noticed, our unsub is focused on a particular kind of victim in order to live out his fantasies. A woman in his life, much like our victims, was probably the trigger-the reason why he started killing, however it is still not clear as to why he is doing so."

"Alright," Lestrade said as he gathered his papers, "How about we have a fifteen minute break and get back to work right after?"

No one objected, and in the matter of minutes humans and their daemons were out the door. Sierra span lazily around in her chair for a moment as she waited for everyone to clear out, and stopped spinning as she realized that Jim had stayed behind.

"Howdy." She said, watching Kertoja hop to the other end of the table and splinter away from them with Libertas at her side as Jim sank into the seat next to hers.

"Hey." He replied, tapping a couple of notes onto the cup he held in his hands with his index finger, "thanks for the coffee."

She gave a little half shrug, "I figured ya'll would need it, with this case eating everyone alive as it is."

"That was still really thoughtful," he pressed, his eyes focused on Kertoja as the magpie flew down to the floor with Libertas. "It must be very difficult, though."

"How do you mean?"

"Well," He drained his cup of its contents and crumpled it in his hands, "you're always thinking of others, and yet it seems that no one seems willing to return the favor."

She stared down at her clasped hands as they rested in front of her on the table. "I'm not after gaining favors, Jim."

He would have scoffed if he hadn't seen the sincerity in her words. Mr. Mancala's words drifted back to him, even after all the years that had passed and he repressed a shudder.

 _"When someone does something nice for you, you are automatically required to do something nice for them back. That's how it works."_

"Just what exactly are you after?"

She looked up at him for a second before looking towards her daemon who was staring right back at her, her tail wagging and her tongue flopped to one side of her sharp toothed mouth.

"I think I've got everything I could ever want, right here in this room." She replied, shooting him a smile before getting up and heading towards the door with Libertas already at her side. He watched her leave the room, and tilted his head in thought as Libertas glanced over her shoulder and looked him directly in the eyes. He could have sworn he'd seen her wink at him.

~EXCERPT FROM STORY~

The man (nameless) tells Jim that since he brought the clothes for him, he now owes him. Jim asks what he owes the man and the man says a favor, or something in return. Jim says okay, like what? And the man says to dress him. So Jim agrees. This is a continuing thing between the two-the man gets something for him(even if Jim doesn't ask for it) and demands that Jim owes him.


	2. Chapter 4

Ripping a Spider From His Web

By: Texmex007

WIP. Like, severe WIP. I have so many plans for this fic it's not even funny. This is for WishesAtMidnight, but anyone else I guess can read it too.

 **Location: Coulter Zeppelin, Brytain.**

 **Year:1983**

"Mrs. Coulter?" a male voice carried from the doorway, urgency seeping through his deep voice.

"Please forgive me, Mr. and Mrs. Adler," Mrs. Coulter apologized to the New Denmark couple, her eyes darting to the man before refocusing on the duo in front of her, "I believe this is quite urgent, but I assure you I will be back in a moment."

"No, no it's quite alright," Mr. Adler assured her warmly as his arm rested on his wife's waist, his grass green eyes twinkling in acknowledgment, for he too knew the urgencies of business, "We understand."

"Do help yourselves to more champagne." Mrs. Coulter said as she gestured to a servant who had just stepped forward with a fresh tray of the bubbling alcoholic beverage.

"Thank you kindly." Mrs. Adler chuckled, daintily picking up a glass with slender, polished fingers.

She turned away from them with a charming smile and slipped past many of her guests, her golden monkey daemon clinging onto her shoulder as she approached the man and shut the door behind them and the party.

"What is it?" She demanded of him, her normally cheerful and melodic voice flat and cold.

"The Witch spoke." The man answered proudly, "It took a good while of-well, you know…" Mrs. Coulter nodded, mindful of her guests outside the door, "but she finally gave in and told us what we needed to know about the reason why our experiments were not working before."

"Oh?" She replied, the monkey on her shoulder staring down at his Standard poodle daemon with dark, intense black eyes.

"Apparently," he continued, "we are in need of a specific type of child."

"Like what?"

"A twin," the man explained excitedly, "a twin who, in the womb, consumed the other twin. The Witch said that because of the absorption of the sibling, it will allow the space needed to store the amount of Dust needed to support the different alters daemons."

Mrs. Coulter's eyes bore into his with such intensity that he had no other choice but to look away.

"Do we have any contenders?" She asked, her tone silky with approval as she stroked her daemon's golden fur.

"As a matter of fact, we do-"

"Tell me after the party." She barked, turning away from him with a dazzling swirl of her glittering amethyst cocktail dress and back to the main room, "I've already lost a great deal of time here with you. Wait for my call."

"Y-yes Mrs. Coulter."

Mrs. Coulter could be called many great and terrible things, but "inattentive" was certainly not one of them. She tended to her guests with all the charm of a flamboyant and elegant butterfly as she seemingly danced and weaved about the room, attending to each and every invited guest with the utmost care and interest that every good hostess worth their salt should, while simultaneously acquiring all the knowledge and most up-to-date gossip about the Magisterium and _their_ knowledge about her newly developed baby-the General Oblation Board, with the doggedness and precision of a collecting honeybee.

She certainly was the "to-see" person in the room, her gem-like purple dress standing out considerably with her daemons golden yellow fur, ever mindful of the complementary nature between the two colors, and in short, between human and daemon. She knew the complexities behind the relationship between the two, for she had spent a great deal of time in her recent Scholar years undergoing research about what connected the two, and what made children's daemons so different than their adult counterparts. Dust, in itself, had proved to be the very key as to why a child's daemon settled, but with the answering of one question, Mrs. Coulter had soon come across a great deal others which were in need of solving as well.

Like, for example, with the recent studies of Dissociative Identity Disorder and the patient's alters-otherwise known as the other personalities that take residence in the body-having their own personal memories, personalities, identities even. What would that mean for the individual's daemon? Would the daemon settle into one form, and one form alone, despite the alter's own individualities?

The only studies had been on adults, however, and their daemons seemed to remain in their original form, although they acted differently for each alter. It seemed as if that was that-there was nothing else to look into. Until the Witches got wind of what the GOB was doing, and began to talk amongst themselves and their human lovers. One of the men, a GOB scientist by the name of Henry Buchanan immediately reported to his superiors of the women's gossip-that it _was_ possible, if done correctly.

As soon as it was confirmed by another Witch that the word was true, a superior high-tailed it to Mrs. Coulter's docked zeppelin to report to the enchanting woman in person: that if the survivor of a pair of twins from the womb was enlisted and put through the necessary conditions to induce DID at the age of six until adolescence, the child's alters would produce separate and individual daemons.

The location had been set-the operation would occur in New Denmark under the sponsorship of the Adlers in whom Mrs. Coulter had personally invited to her party solely for the reason of recruiting them. Now, all that was needed was the child.

"Now," Mrs. Coulter said as she reclined in her arm chair, her daemon curled up in her lap contently as the man and his poodle daemon stood rigidly in front of her, "what is the child's name?"

"His name is James," said the man as he read off a sheet of paper, "James Moriarty. He is six years old, and lives in Ireland."

"Moriarty?" She echoed, tilting her head in thought, "that name is familiar. Are you meaning to tell me that this boy is the son of Aiden Moriarty? He's one of the inventors that developed the Maystadt anbaric scalpel, isn't he?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Hmm. Small world." She paused, pursing her carefully lined lips, "that won't do too easily, now will it?"

"He's the only shot we have-"

"I didn't say we would just drop him and try to look for someone else, now did I?" she snapped, shutting him up in the matter of seconds. She continued, "We will have to send Mr. Moriarty off towards Svalbard to work on the scalpel, and while he is gone, and the boy's mother is at work, we will take him." She looked up at him, daring him to disagree. He nodded swiftly, his daemon bowing her head in submission.

"Now, go set it up. I'm counting on you." Mrs. Coulter said with a charming smile as she held out her hand to him. He took it quickly and pressed a soft kiss to her hand before heading out the door. The moment the door closed behind him, Mrs. Coulter took out a handkerchief and wiped her hands rigorously.

 **Location: South Western region of Brytain, known as Ireland**

 **A couple of weeks later**

"Goodnight, Seamus. Mommy loves you." Jim could hear his mother's voice lingering above his head, calling him by his native name in favor of his English name before she pressed a soft kiss to his temple. She would never tell him, but 'Seamus' was going to be his brother's name before…

She refused to continue that thought, the thought that her son was in a twisted way, a murderer. Cool hands brushed back black stray strands of his bangs and he sighed contently as his daemon Kertoja, now in the form of a calico Turkish van cat, snuggled up beside him underneath the covers.

"I Love you too, Mama." He whispered, "When will Papa come home?"

He couldn't see his mother's face because of the darkness, the only light trickling into the room came from the doorway which was nearly closed, but through Kertoja he could feel his mother's daemon's stress as the red and cream Stoat paced back and forth near the door. Papa had not been home for about two months now, and although Jim wasn't supposed to, he and Kertoja had spent many evenings reflecting on the night before Papa had left, listening just outside the study room where Mama and Papa had talked in harsh whispers about " _Dust_ " and " _Work_ " and " _Her_ ".

Jim would lie awake late at night with Kertoja, discussing what could be so important about Papa's work, which Mama had said dealt with something called the "General Oblation Board", which was "still in its infancy and for helping children with growing up". Jim couldn't see why dust was so important, other than the fact that it made him want to sneeze sometimes, but Mama always kept the house very clean, so that never really happened much.

"Papa will come back soon." Mama answered vaguely, pressing another kiss against his temple, "Now, when you wake up, we will have chocolate chip pancakes-how about that?"

Jim grinned, his thoughts easily turned away from his absent father and focused on tomorrow, "With chocolate sauce?" he asked, hope filling up inside his heart like one of the air balloons his parents had taken him for a ride on last year for his 5th birthday.

His mother chuckled, the sound as light and airy as the tinkling of bells, "Aye, my darling boy. With chocolate sauce. Now, go to sleep. I'll be going to work tonight, but I will be back in time to wake you."

Jim nodded. It wasn't uncommon for his mother to leave him alone at the house, she had to work at the local hospital, and Jim was a good boy after all. Mama liked to say he was "mature for his age", which never failed to fill him up with pride. She was right, he could take care of himself-he had Kertoja. He rolled over to face Kertoja and placed a hand on her tricolored fur as the door closed behind him, all light gone, save for the light of the moon peering into his window. When the revving sound of Mama's truck signaling her leave reached their ears, Kertoja spoke.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" she asked, her tail flicking minutely as she lay beside him.

"Aye." Jim closed his eyes and waited for the imagery to appear along with his daemon's words.

This happened often, since his parents were always gone and never had time to tell him stories. Mama had been able to take time off once or twice here and there; however the best storyteller had always been Kertoja. She knew how to supply him with the vivid details needed to imagine clearly the sceneries in each of her wild, unique stories. He listened to her speak of dragons, merfolk, faeries, and kingdoms, his mind's eye actively painting canvas after canvas of detailed illustration of discovery, heartache, and triumph. He fell asleep, his mind full of potential dream fodder, waiting for the REM cycle to take its turn.

In his dreams, Jim traveled freely amongst the planets in the solar system that his Papa had taught him in grand detail, immortal and without need of oxygen as he walked along space as if he was traveling an unseen road. He started with Pluto, and sat for a while, gazing into the stars with Kertoja by his side in the form of a Maned wolf, her long black legs elevating her to heights that his six year old self couldn't see yet as they crossed the rocky, icy terrain with no difficulty at all. It reminded him of the one time he sat on his Papa's lap and listened carefully to the tales of the North, where Ice Bears roamed in granite kingdoms and snow could be seen for miles.

Neither of them spoke in his dreams, there was no need to. What Kertoja felt, he felt. What she thought, he thought, and vice versa. The duo traveled alongside the planets towards the sun on the invisible yet very tangible road, both admiring the splendor of the celestial bodies laid out before them. When they reached the Earth, the two paused and stared down at the countries, taking turns in naming each one they recognized-Brytain, New Denmark in the West along with Texas; Hispania Nova below it, before they continued on towards Venus and Mercury.

It was when they reached Mercury that Jim noticed how high the temperature had risen since leaving Pluto. He thought about turning back to the cool planet, but Kertoja herded him along towards the Sun. Now the temperature was _really_ hot, and he was starting to feel very uncomfortable, the longing to turn back even greater than before. But Kertoja kept insisting to the point where she changed into a huge Black rhinoceros and hauled him onto her back. The heat was palpable, even, and it wasn't until he opened his eyes to the sound of Kertoja yelling at him that he realized the end of his dream had become a living nightmare.

"Hold on to me tightly and don't let go!" Kertoja commanded as she charged ahead, knocking away whatever threat she found with her sharpened nose, whether it be overturned furniture or a closed door. Jim clung on to her thick hide and fought hard to keep his eyes open against the smoke and fiery light as flames gorged on the innards of his home.

"Where's Mama?" he coughed as he inhaled thick, black smoke, "Is she okay? Do you know?"

Kertoja shook her massive head, "Remember? She said she was going to work. Now don't talk anymore and keep your face close to my back." Her voice was strained, as if she would be crying if she wasn't so preoccupied with protecting him. Jim obeyed, rested his cheek on her back and thought, and thought, and thought as she broke through the front door and dashed away from the house before turning around to watch it burn. ' _Why did a fire break out? Where had it started? Was it accidental?'_

He shivered, not at the cool night air stroking his back but at the next thought running through his mind.

' _Was it intentional?'_

"Jaja," he muttered after sliding off her and crumpling to the ground in his blue flannel pajamas, "What are we going to do?"

She transformed into a Roe deer and nestled herself beside him in the grass before licking his hair into place.

"We'll go to the neighbors," Kertoja replied soothingly, her doe eyes focused on the fire in front of them, "It isn't too far of a walk, and I can carry you."

"Are you sure, Jaja?" he asked, glancing down at his bare feet only to remember that his shoes and what little else he possessed was inside the raging fireball that used to be his house. He knew he should have been panicking, screaming, crying, throwing a fit, but all he could feel was Kertoja's warm fur against his skin and her muzzle nuzzling his head. She was radiating tranquility, from her posture to her form, trying her best to calm the six year old boy who she loved more than anything else in the world, including herself.

"I'll be fine. Here, get on my back." She shifted again into a brown Shetland pony and lifted her head determinedly towards the nearest house after he clambered up onto her back.

They traveled for about a mile before reaching the house, and found that the lights were already on.

"That's strange." Jim tilted his head at the light peering out from the house, "why are they still up at this hour? What time is it, anyway?"

"Does it matter?" Kertoja snorted, "Go and knock on the door."

Jim jumped off and knocked on the door in great haste, "Hello!" He cried out, "Hello? Mr. O'Brian? Ms. O'Brian? Are you there? It's me, James Moriarty from next door!"

There was no response.

"Well?" Kertoja inquired, now perched on his shoulder as a Blue jay, "Why won't they open the door?"

"I dunno," Jim replied, "but maybe if I…" he reached out and grabbed the doorknob, opening it quite easily before entering the house.

"I don't like this, Jim." Kertoja whispered, as they entered the eerily quiet house, "let me look ahead."

Jim nodded. Kertoja darted ahead, flapping her stain glass-like blue, white, and black wings as she headed into the kitchen, where she was overtaken by a huge, weighted net that knocked her down to the floor. Jim darted towards her, but before he could reach her a pair of two strong hands shot up from behind him and held him, preventing him from moving. With a frustrated growl, Jim struggled and kicked against his attacker, biting the man's arms until he tasted blood, earning him a good shake.

Kertoja wrestled with the net on the floor, transforming into many different forms-fox-snake-wolf-bear-eagle, but she still couldn't get free. She even transformed into a fly, but because of the highly dense mesh of the material she couldn't even break away as two men walked towards her net and forced her into a pet carrier made with the same dense material and what appeared to be some sort of wood.

"Stop fighting!" the man behind him roared into his ear, but Jim didn't listen. The man boxed him on the ear twice, causing the six year olds ears to ring and his vision to blur and Kertoja to cry out in pain.

"Stop, Jim." Kertoja cried softly from the cage she was in, now curled up into herself as a King cobra, her hood flattened against her scaly body as she watched the men around them with increasingly droopy eyes. Jim turned to her, his brown eyes wide as he stared at the cage. He could feel it-her tiredness seeping into his bones, suffocating his conscience, along with something else that wasn't from his daemon.

A quick prick against his neck startled him, but the pain was gone in an instant. Still, he continued to struggle, albeit rather weakly afterwards. _'Was it the stinging thing in my neck?'_ he wondered tiredly as his expressive brown eyes drooped too, and his increasingly unconscious body sagged to the floor.

As Jim and Kertoja were carried away, a couple of men stayed behind to survey the corpses of Mr. and Mrs. O'Brian as they lay sprawled out in their bed, their daemons long gone and their hands almost touching but not quite, blood drying around the bullet hole wounds on their temples.

"You were right," one man, a stout brunette, said to the other with an amused smirk, "Cedar wood definitely works."

The other man, a tall strawberry blonde, spared him a small sideways glance and scoffed, "Of course it works. The Board has been using it for months ever since the Witches told _her_."

"Hmm." The brunette hummed approvingly.

"So I can leave you to this?" the blonde asked as he turned towards the door, his Barn owl daemon swooping to perch on his shoulder.

"Of course," the brunette replied, careful not to scoff at his coworker's jab towards his capabilities. He waved the question away, "leave it to me. I will make sure it doesn't lead back to the Board."

They shared a knowing stare before the blonde's daemon sank its talons warningly into her human's shoulder, and then they were gone, leaving the brunette standing in the middle of a crime scene.

Two days later Mr. and Mrs. O'Brian made the front page of the local newspaper, their murder pinned on a local gang nefarious for murdering elderly couples and stealing their possessions as it should have been and the Moriarty home was ruled out as "accidental", a body too charred to identify but could only be little James Moriarty, son of Aiden Moriarty and Eliza Moriarty was found.

As Mrs. Moriarty and her husband grieved over the loss of their only child, their neighbors' children and grandchildren gathered around to mourn and explain to Mr. and Mrs. O'Brian's distraught great grandchildren why they couldn't visit Mimi and Popa anymore while he brunette man received a considerable bonus in his paycheck and didn't lose a wink of sleep. The rest of the world quickly forgot about the elderly couple and the accidental fire in the matter of weeks.

Meanwhile, the world around Jim slipped and slid from his grasp as if he was trying to catch tendrils of smoke with his hands, and when he tried to open his eyes, he felt too tired and had to close them almost as quickly as he opened them. The only comforts he had each time he awoke were he didn't dream, and the solid presence of Kertoja lying beside him, on top of him, surrounding him, in her various forms. It felt like the sixth time he sank back into consciousness when he opened his eyes and was able to keep them open enough to sit up and observe his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer wearing his pajamas, nor any clothes for that matter, save a pair of grey underpants that weren't even his own. He felt the material with his fingers and noticed they were newly bought, but cheap, and could have been purchased at any nondescript clothing store. Kertoja stirred beside him in her calico Turkish van form and he gently shoved her awake as he called her name.

"Kertoja," he whispered close to her ear, his eyes searching the room for cameras as he was unsure if they were being listened to or not. "Kertoja wake up."

Kertoja opened her eyes and looked up at him groggily before the previous night's events jolted her awake and into the form of a fluttering Giant Leopard moth.

"Jim!" she whispered harshly after he pressed a finger to his lips, indicating her to be quiet, "where in world are your clothes?!"

Jim ignored her question and looked around the dim, concrete room and the metallic door in front of him, "More importantly," he answered as he stared at the only camera in the room resting above the door, "where in the world are we?"

She fluttered up close to the anbaric light emitting from the bulb in the center of the room and fluttered back down to his bare shoulder, tickling him just a little with her small furry feet, "I believe we are in a holding cell."

"I agree," Jim said, turning his head to look at her beautiful white and black form, "now the question is "why"."

"What do you remember?" she asked, suddenly jogging his memory back to the fire, the trip to the neighbors and the men.

"I remember you waking me up," Jim replied slowly as the details siphoned back into his memory, "I remember knocking on the O'Brian's door, and then…The men, the men who took us away. Kertoja, I believe the man that got me injected something into my neck and that's why I feel asleep."

"I remember becoming very tired when they shoved me into that wooden carrier," Kertoja muttered, "and that was before you got injected. I think it was the wood—I mean, why use wood when metal will prove stronger?"

Before Jim could answer, a cold draft blew out from underneath the door, caressing his pale skin with chilly finger-like tendrils of air. He shivered before holding his gooseflesh ridden arms in his hands and hunched forward, his eyes squeezed shut. Kertoja quickly flew off and morphed into a polar bear before encircling him in her warmth.

"T-thanks," Jim muttered into her fur. She huffed in response.

They sat huddled together for a couple of minutes before the anbaric light overhead grew stronger in intensity, lighting up the bleak room even more. They looked up in confusion at the light before Kertoja's head snapped back to the door as it let out a soft, nearly inaudible _'click!'_ as a lock was undone. She stood up on all fours against Jim's soft protests and lumbered around him until she stood between him and the door and whatever potential threat it held behind it.

The door opened slowly, another gush of wind tickling the pale furs on her back. Jim peered around her to watch a man in his early thirties enter the room, his Barn owl daemon staring directly at him from her perch on his shoulder, her pale face glowing like snow in the light.

He was in his early thirties, Jim figured. The man's strawberry blonde hair was kept short, and his glasses were atop the bridge of his nose without any crookedness to them at all. Jim figured he was a little taller than his mother, so around five foot eleven inches, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to see all just like his daemon's as she continued to stare at him with her black, beady eyes.

It was unsettling to receive so much attention from another person's daemon since it had never happened to him before, and as the man stared down at him as well he squirmed and tried to hide his nakedness from behind Kertoja.

"Sir-"

"You will speak only when I tell you to." The man interjected coldly, cutting Jim's question short. Kertoja narrowed her dark eyes at the man and somehow was able to refrain from indulging herself in the overwhelming urge to growl. Jim tilted his head at the sound of his voice-it wasn't British-it was something else. New Denmark, maybe?

Oddly, the man's daemon stayed behind the door on a wooden perch as the man shut it behind him and walked a couple of paces closer, "Do you understand? Say either 'Yes' or 'No'."

"Yes." Jim answered, swallowing a huge lump in his throat that often came before the tears did. _'Why is he keeping his daemon outside?'_ he thought as Kertoja shifted into a Red panda and hid behind Jim's backside, uncomfortable with the small amount of distance between her and the man. She thought of the owl daemon perched outside, and the door between them, and wondered how they were able to stand not seeing each other.

"Good boy." The man smiled down at him, and although he was afraid of the man, Jim could not help but like his smile. It was soft, and kind, almost, except when Jim looked up into his eyes they still held that same steely, calculated look that he had walked in with and he dared not look away. His eyes were so very blue, like the ocean his Mama had taken him to go see a couple of months back, and he stared into them until he couldn't stare anymore and had to blink.

"Good boy," the man repeated. He kneeled down in front of him and stretched forth his hand towards Jim before placing it on his head. He held back a chuckle as he felt the boy flinch beneath his palm and began to run his fingers through Jim's dark hair in soothing, languid motions.

Jim wanted to ask what he was doing, what he wanted, why his daemon was waiting outside, could he go home, could he please have some clothes? He didn't say a word, though, and kept his mouth firmly shut as the man's fingers continued to scrape lightly against his scalp.

He closed his eyes and felt Kertoja stiffen behind him as the man's other hand brushed gently against his cheek and lightly trail down his neck and shoulder and his arm. It felt nice and kind, Jim noticed, not mean and hurtful like when the other kids would fight with him at school. It reminded him of seeing his Mama and Papa together, the two of them holding one another and whispering.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" The man murmured. Jim wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer that, so he kept silent. The man continued, tilting Jim's chin up with his free hand "Would you like some clothes?"

Jim opened his eyes and stared up at him, "Y-yes please."

The man grinned, and Jim thought he liked his grin too. "Alright, but you can only get one article of clothing for now. Think carefully. Now, what would you like?"

Jim thought long and hard, "Could I get a footed onesie?"

The man raised an eyebrow, "Ah, you're a smart one, aren't' you?" he chuckled as he got up, "Alright then. I will get you an onesie."

"Thank you." Jim whispered, scared to know if he had just spoken out of terms or not. The man seemed to sense it, because he then turned around to look him in the eyes.

"You are permitted to verbally thank me, and answer questions when I tell you to. Stay there and I will go and retrieve what you asked for." He explained.

Jim nodded, his arms wrapped back around his chest as he sat on the cold floor. The man smirked after shutting the door behind him once more and calling his daemon to his shoulder.

"I understand that it went well." His daemon said.

He grinned, "Of course it did. His daemon is rather suspicious of me, but the boy likes me already. Phase One was a success like I said it would be, and if he continues to exhibit good behavior, Phase Two shouldn't be too difficult."

"Gaining his trust by providing the basic essentials." The owl said knowingly, "simple, but effective."

"I've often been told that simplicity is a virtue." The man mused.

"It's a shame we have no real use for that." She replied.

"Simplicity?" The man asked, turning his head just a bit to her side as he opened another door.

"No," she scoffed softly, "virtue."

Jim waited for what seemed like an hour, but it was only thirty minutes (he had counted along with Kertoja's help). During that time he had walked around the expanse of the room, taking note of the twin sized bed and small open bathroom equipped with a bath, toilet and sink the farthest corner of the room. When the door opened again, relief flooded through him, warm and promising as the man walked back into the room with the onesie in question, his daemon still at the door.

"I brought you the clothes," the man said as he lifted up the red onesie for Jim to see, "just like you had asked."

"Thank you!" Jim got up off the floor and rushed over to him, his arm stretched out to take it, but the man only raised it higher.

Now hold on," the man tsked, "since I got this for you, you now owe me."

Jim tilted his head in confusion as he looked up into those blue eyes, "I owe you?"

"Yes. You owe me." The man explained, "When someone does something nice for you, you are automatically required to do something nice for them back. That's how it works."

Jim thought for a moment, "Okay." He said slowly, tucking away the life lesson into the recesses of his young mind, "I owe you. What do I need to do to settle the score?"

The man watched Kertoja slither away from him a little in the shape of a Boomslang and smiled at her weariness. "I want you to let me dress you." he said, his eyes flickering back to Jim's, "That's all I want."

Jim couldn't believe his luck. If that was all, then he'd gladly allow it. "M'kay." He said, uncrossing his arms from his chest to stand still in front of the man. The man smiled again, the same nice smile as before, and this time Jim thought his eyes were somewhat softer too.

"Hold out your arms." The strawberry blonde commanded, and Jim quickly did as he was told. The man took his time, unfolding the clothes in slow, deliberate movements and held it out in front of him. He then unzipped it and ordered Jim to turn around, to which the boy obeyed.

Jim could feel the man's warm hands gently take each leg in turn and slip them into the designated sleeves and then slide up his sides until they reached his arms. It made him feel funny in his chest, like there was a flock of butterflies in his chest, all fluttering and beating against his sternum as if they were trying to break free, but were stuck.

"Good boy, Jim," the man said encouragingly as he held still and allowed the man to manipulate his hands into the onesie sleeves. It was the first time he had addressed him by his first name, Jim realized, and yet he didn't even know _his_ name.

"What is your name?" Jim asked, tilting his head back towards the man's chest to look up at him. Those warm hands slid up his arms and settled on his bare shoulders, where they flitted and brushed against his skin as softly as a gentle breeze. It was a tad bit uncomfortable, Jim realized, but he didn't think it would be wise to move away, so he tried his best to ignore the weird feeling the man's touch brought him.

The man's grip tightened just a tad around his shoulders-a warning for talking out of turn-he could throttle him if he so pleased, but since he was feeling rather generous at the moment, he decided to answer and not reprimand him this one time.

"You may call me 'Mr. Mancala'." The man grinned down at him. It wouldn't be until a couple of years later that Jim would even realize that was simply the name of a Niger game and not his real name. Until then, however, Jim just swished the name around in his mouth like it was mouth wash and swallowed it down.

"Thank you Mr. Mancala."

"You're welcome. Now turn around."

Jim turned around and watched as Mr. Mancala's big hands reached down and brushed against his stomach as he reached for the zipper and slid it all the way up until it stopped just below Jim's clavicles.

"How does that feel?" Mr. Mancala asked, his hands warm and heavy on his shoulders. Jim pawed at his onesie and nodded,

"Feels warm. Ta, Mr. Mancala." He replied quietly, feeling suddenly shy. Mr. Mancala scoffed softly at the child before stretching out his hand out to ruffle the young boy's short dark hair. In a couple of months, Jim would need a haircut, the man mused as he raked his nails softly against Jim's scalp, pleased as the boy leaned toward his touch. The boy's daemon-now a Samoyed puppy- scampered towards her human but still kept her distance. He figured it _was_ a step up from a serpent.

"Kertoja"-(Narrator) [Finnish]


	3. Chapter 2

So Wishes, this is set waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay into the future of the story, so if you wanna read go ahead, but I wanted to add this here so you could if you wanted to.

"Where to?" asked the cabbie, turning his head to look her in the eyes. She thought it was a rather friendly and nice gesture, considering the fact that he could have easily used his rear view mirror.

"329 Danbury Avenue." Sierra answered. The man nodded and pulled into the street.

"So where are you from?" He inquired, hoping to make a little small talk despite the fact that the trip wasn't going to take more than ten minutes, "you sound like you're either from New Denmark or Texas."

"I'm from Texas," She answered proudly.

"Very nice. What made you come to Brytain?"

Sierra looked out the cab's window into the London streets, watching multiple buildings sweep by as the driver made his way towards a designated address that the Detective Inspector had given her. She smiled as she watched random people and their cherished daemons walk or ride along the busy sidewalks.

"I wanted to have a change of scenery, and with my occupation, I was able to come here." _'because I've always wanted to come here.'_

"What's your job?" he asked. She turned her attention back to him and his daemon, a beautiful russet colored Maine Coon as it lay curled up in the passenger seat of the cab. She didn't even hesitate.

"I'm an accountant." The lie rolled off her tongue easily enough. _'Just kidding Cabbieman. I'm actually a FBI Special Agent, and Daemonologist.'_

"Eh? Is that so? I've never been one for numbers." The cabbie joked, and she laughed.

"Well, it gets easier once you learn to love it."

The cab pulled over a couple of minutes later, a block from the crime scene. After a quick mental calculation Sierra handed him a couple of notes with a smile towards both him and his daemon and a 'thank you' before jumping out. She waited till he was gone before striding towards the scene bathed in blue and red flashing lights, Libertas at her heels. Together they walked up to the caution tape and came face to face with what appeared to be an African American woman on the other side along with an ocelot daemon blocking them from going any further.

"Sorry, no civilians allowed." sneered the woman, eyeing Sierra's long, grey coat, red button down blouse, black slacks and red heels. She watched as the woman's mocha eyes widened a significant portion as she looked down at Libertas-apparently New Denmark wasn't the only place that liked to stereotype people based on their daemons. Of course, she was used to this. It was her job, after all, to come to a baseline for people's psyche on a regular basis in order to solve crimes, and yes, sometimes it did help to know what kind of daemon the unsub had.

However, it didn't help her that people tended to look at her strangely as she traveled in public-it wasn't very common to have a wolf daemon, or any major predator at all for that matter, and according to history and even modern times, having one sure wasn't a sign that the person was of benevolent spirits. It had given her a hard time when she was younger and trying out for the Academy, and an even harder time when she joined the BAU.

Something about wolf daemons being the 'warrior's daemon', usually set a few (ignorant) people on edge.

She listened as Libertas let out a low growl in disapproval and quickly blocked the memories of her younger years out of her mind for her daemon's sake.

Her mind jumping from the past to the present, Sierra forced herself to remain courteous, despite how annoyed she was by the woman's (blatantly wrong) assumption. Instead, she flashed her credentials at the woman.

"Special Agent Sonora, I'm here on DI Lestrade's request," stated Sierra matter-of-factly, her tone all business. Libertas loomed over the woman's ocelot with authority in her gaze. She watched the woman's-'Sally Donavan' by the looks of her name tag-eyes widen and turn around towards the crime scene, the ocelot backing up and nearly tripping his human as he did so.

According to her research, the DI was apparently the rough equivalent to the ranking of a Lieutenant back stateside. She lowered her hand and held onto the Arctic wolf's ruff as she thought about being millions of miles away from home, the gesture soothing for the both of them in this time of anxiety.

 _Home…_

Home was now located at 221C Baker Street, next to a friendly lady named Mrs. Hudson who had found her and offered up the tiny, one bedroom flat for rent. After doing some homework on the local police force there and applying to help-and amazingly, was accepted- she got a plane ticket and her suitcases. Nearly 72 hours later, she and Libertas were headed to their first crime scene in Brytain.

"Hey, Boss! That agent that you had requested is here!" she shouted, turning the head of one silvery haired man from his conversation with two other men, a tall brunette and a shorter, dishwater blond man. The three of them turned to her, and Sierra helped herself to duck underneath the caution tape as they approached. She looked to the silver haired man and held out her hand, taking notice of the Golden eagle sitting on his shoulder.

"Special Agent Sonora, and Libertas," she said, smiling as the man took her hand in his and shook firmly, "here to help Sir."

"D.I Lestrade," said Mr. Lestrade. He looked down at Libertas and although he looked composed enough, his eagle's incessant ruffling gave him away. "Sorry," he said as he realized Sierra had noticed, "I know you told me about her, its just-well, she's very big." He laughed tentatively.

"I get that a lot." Libertas said with a smile, although Sierra could feel through their connection that it wasn't real. Libertas, when standing on all fours, came up to Sierra's waist, and when she sat down on her haunches, the top of her head would come up just below Sierra's breast. So yes, Libertas was pretty big, but it also didn't help that Sierra was only five foot nothing. Compared to the other wolf breeds, Rio was actually pretty short too, if not the shortest breed.

Lestrade took the time to shoot a glance at the sharp-eyed daemon on his shoulder and smiled, "Um, this is Sonkei. Thank you very much for coming all the way here."

"Pleasure to meet you." Sonkei's eyes twinkled in merriment.

"Likewise." Libertas wagged her tail.

By this time, the two other men had caught up to her and Mr. Lestrade and the two Texan gals turned to examine them.

One of the men, a tall, wild haired brunette was staring at her, his pale blue (green? It was hard to tell, but they sure were pretty) eyes flickering everywhere across her person as if he were looking for something, his Red fox daemon doing the same to Riozi, although it made a point to do so behind her human's terribly long legs. It made her feel a tad bit uneasy as he continued to examine her, and the narrowing of her daemon's eyes made it clear that she felt the same way.

"Whatever you're looking for, I hope you find it." She said casually as she extended her right hand out to the friendlier looking dishwater blonde, silently admiring the majestic and regal form of his daemon as the African lion-male, no less, just like his human; just like Libertas was female like unto herself, stood towering over Libertas.

"My name is Special Agent Sierra Sonora, and this is Libertas," she placed her left hand on top of the white wolf's neck, "what's your name?"

"John, my name is John Watson," he appeared to be taken aback by her calm nature towards his daemon's form, but soon recovered and found himself liking her instantly as he found a kindred spirit in her. John chuckled, "His name is Keadilan."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Libertas grinned up at the massively maned lion, earning her a grin back.

"Why, I could just about say the same thing." Keadilan replied in a low rumble, his tail swishing back and forth behind him in a similar manner to Libertas'.

"So are you a detective?" asked Sierra, folding her arms across her chest, trying to block out the cold. It was nearly fifty degrees out, and Libertas was having a blast.

"No, I'm just here to help examine the body and assist," replied the shorter man. He gestured to the taller man beside him with a sigh, "and this is Sherlock Holmes and Forvitni. Sherlock here is a consulting detective."

"Oh-that's neat. Nice to meet ya'll." She said, offering her hand to the taller man. He scowled at it, but before Sierra could withdraw her hand he took it and gave a firm shake before dropping it. However, the fox beside him was a lot kinder towards Libertas; she had been tentative to approach, but once they touched noses she playfully arched her reddish back and took off, willing Libertas to follow with a chuckle.

"Texan." said Sherlock matter-of-factly, ignoring his daemon as it ran around outside the crime scene, just a couple of feet away with the white wolf. Not enough to feel the pain of being too far away from your daemon. Sierra just blinked.

"Um, yes, I would hope it'd be obvious-I mean it's obvious that you're British." She retorted, allowing her southern drawl to seep through her words, cracking a smile as Sherlock frowned and John smirked. Even Keadilan was wearing a smile. The man continued.

"You've had a close relative-probably a father-who served as a Texas Ranger. You're an FBI agent, so I'm assuming that you are here to assist on the case, only through Lestrade's orders. You're either Indian, or Native American, looking at the structure of your face and solid, natural tan, but based on where you are from, I'm going to say Native American-but with your last name, and I'll also have to say Hispanic. You're Mexican, to be exact, given your country's affiliation with Nueva espana."

Sherlock paused, gauging Sierra's reaction with a bit of excitement, which was only inflated as he watched her grin at him.

"Very good Mr. Holmes," she said, chuckling a little, "got anything that a normal person _couldn't_ deduct?"

He looked truly taken aback for a couple of seconds before Sierra continued to explain. By this time Forvitni and Libertas had returned from their game of chase.

"I mean, you looked at my Texas Ranger pin, and based on the female to male ratio of Texas Rangers, you guessed a father figure. That was very smart on your behalf. I also allowed my accent to show when I answered you, and since it's southern, and I'm wearing the Texas Ranger pin, you decided Texas."

She grinned, her normally half lidded dark brown eyes flashing wide in amusement, "now, with the whole dot and feather bit-"

The three men and their daemons looked rather confused at this, so she pointed to the middle of her forehead and said 'dot', then she put up three fingers behind her head and said 'feather'. Recognition flashed across their faces and Lestrade doubled over in laughter, nearly sending Sonkei towards the ground at this while John chuckled and Sherlock smirked.

"She's good." Forvitni grinned as he looked up at Sierra with a smile, and for a moment Sherlock looked bewildered that his daemon had spoken.

"Thank you Forvitni," said Sierra, a smile gracing her lips before she continued, "Honestly, I've been confused for being Indian, but I am actually Native American as well as Hispanic; Mexican is the correct label." She explained.

"Any discrepancies?" Sherlock questioned, looking her daemon in the eyes and searching after data that Sierra couldn't really identify. He seemed to be thinking of something as he stared at Libertas, and for a sickening moment she thought it would be about her species, and if it were to do with "trauma" or anything of that nature.

"I'm half Mexican, half Caucasian- so Scottish, Irish, and British," answered Sierra as she waved a hand in the air, and John couldn't help but notice the lilt in the Texan woman's voice as she said the word 'Scottish'-it sounded nearly authentic. Libertas continued for her,

"No."

Sierra cupped her chin in her hands, "I must say, that was quite impressive. It's nice to see someone who can actually observe people. I mean, it's my job and pastime, but you really take it to another level."

Sherlock just grinned while Forvitni let out a happy yip.

Sierra then turned slightly from the two men and smiled at Mr. Lestrade, "Now, good Sir, would you please show me the crime scene?"

"You're giving the freak a new partner to work with?" snorted Ms. Donovan, turning away from the four and heading back to the house, her daemon, Svavoĺny, sticking his nose in the air as his human began mumbling obscenities under her breath. Sierra raised one perfectly arched brow, her eyes dangerously narrowed. Riozi growled lowly as they watched her retreating backside.

"Sorry, Sally doesn't really mean-"

Sierra cut the D.I off, "Who in the world did she mean by 'Freak'?" she scoffed, glaring daggers at the house. _'I thought I had already graduated from high school.'_

"She meant me." answered Sherlock with an exaggerated eye-roll as he started walking towards the house. "Don't let it affect you." The three quickly followed, Sierra tagging alongside Sherlock as Forvitni and Libertas trotted together.

"You know what, Mr. Holmes?" Sierra declared, looking up at the man.

"Please, you may call me 'Sherlock'" replied the consulting detective, "and what is it?"

"Well, for one, I must say, you have lovely eyes."

"So I've been told." replied Sherlock dryly. Forvitni snickered at this but said nothing.

"Good to know the general public's opinion is in accordance on something," Sierra chuckled, "however, I know you must already know this, but the second thing I must say is Damnant quod non intelligunt _._ "

It took him about five seconds to translate what she'd just said.

 _They condemn what they do not understand._

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and looked down at her, a grin threatening to spread across his face as he examined her.

"That's surprising." he said, before continuing the trek towards the house.

"I'm full of surprises." answered Sierra cheerily as she followed him into the house.

The moment they entered the house, he noticed her whole demeanor change as she and Libertas took in the scene before them that she had seen in the case files: there was blood splatter across the right side of the door, as well as the right wall, splattering red across a beige canvas. A single bullet hole pierced the wall.

A man sprawled out the couch; face up, a bullet wound centered in the middle of his forehead- _'execution style'_ \- and his...arms, were folded across his chest as if he were sleeping. After re-checking that the crime scene had already been processed by CSU, Sierra walked over to better examine the body.

"He's been dead for at least 72 hours," announced John, checking the corpse's eyes and body, "single shot to the head, no exit wound."

"Male, age in his mid-40's, brown hair, construction worker, unmarried, smoker…" Sherlock rattled off as he examined the man's hands with gloved hands.

"Wait, Sherlock-" Sierra muttered as she took the man's other hand in her own and looked underneath the fingernails, "he's a user."

"I see that." answered Sherlock after glancing up at where Sierra was pointing to.

"I smell perfume," announced Libertas as she sniffed the bathroom, "it's a woman's perfume. The smell is faded, though. So she's been gone for a while."

"Girlfriend, maybe?" Keadilan said to Forvitni as the fox stayed close by.

"You think the victim was known by his killer?" Lestrade inquired as he wrote down the suggestion in his notebook.

"Yes." answered Sierra and Sherlock in unison.

"How do you know he was using? His arms are clean." asked a floppy haired man from behind the D.I. His brown and white Fox terrier daemon trotted alongside him as they approached. Sierra found it interesting how the terrier wouldn't look Riozi in the eyes and cowered behind the man when they drew near.

"What's your name?" Sierra asked patiently.

"That's Anderson and Vyavasthā," said Sherlock as he picked up a hand and examined the corpse's nails, "pay Anderson no heed." He carefully excluded Vyavasthā, for the little dog certainly _did_ know how to do her job correctly. He couldn't say the same for her human, however.

"Well, might as well explain my findings, Sherlock," she said with a small smile, thinking about the fact that he excluded Vyavasthā, "Mr. Anderson, I looked under his nails-besides the arms and between the toes, users tend to inject themselves there."

Mr. Anderson just scoffed and walked away, mumbling something about 'freaks' as his daemon slinked away with him. She felt herself start to bristle, but shoved the feeling aside in order to attend to the matter at hand. Libertas, on the other hand, growled lowly to herself at Sierra's side, muttering something about 'idiots and their uncanny ability to scoff at things they don't understand.' Sierra smiled at that.

"His name is Henry O'Neilson," said D.I Lestrade as he held read the case file out loud in order to go over what they already knew in hopes of uncovering more data, "his daemon was a Meerkat. He's got no previous police records, but he's been listed for previous military enrollment- he was in the royal Navy a while back but was dishonorably discharged."

"Ok-ay," Sierra drawled, "That's weird... Do we know what for?"

"File doesn't mention why." Lestrade frowned.

"Well," Sierra continued, "based on how the body was found, I'd say he knew his killer. He was placed face up on the couch when his killer could very well have left lying on his back how he or she had shot him."

"Why do you think he was on his face when he was shot?"

"fiber transfer." Sherlock answered, "traces of fiber from the couch can be found in his mouth."

She paused with a grimace, "And look at this." She pointed to the man's face-he bore a serene expression. "His arms were folded across his chest postmortem to make it seem as if he were asleep. And look-his eyes are closed, and he's smiling. Someone who is shot usually wears a surprised expression, but it seems his face was manipulated to seem peaceful."

She paused to turn to the CSU team, "I'd check his face for prints," she said, before continuing,

"The killer must be feeling remorseful for what they've done, based on what they've done with the body itself."

"I agree," Sherlock said as he stood up, removing his gloves and shoving them into his coat pocket, "Whoever killed him, knew him."

"Poor bloke." John murmured, getting up off the floor and walking towards the door.

"Well, that'll make it easier-we can go and check his buddies in the Navy and go from there. Maybe we'll even be able to talk to his superiors and see why he was discharged from service." said the D.I. When Sherlock made his way to the door as well, Lestrade called out to him.

"Oi! Going to the morgue, aren't you?" Lestrade asked, calling Sherlock to a halt as John bounded out the door.

"Obviously," Sherlock mumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well, take Sierra with you," retorted the D.I, "She's not going to know how to get there."

Sierra shook her head, "No it's okay, I can get a cab-"

"Come along Sierra, we can order a big cab and all get there at once." Sherlock instructed her, turning on his heel and leaving the house. Sierra was quick to follow and waved back at the D.I, mouthing a 'thank you'.

Sierra leaned against the countertop, supporting her chin with her propped up hand and rubbing Riozi's backside with the other as they waited for the mortician and I.T to show up so they could look over the body while O'Neil's laptop got a proper scan.

John and Sherlock were off to the side, whispering about something, but based on their close proximity she figured it was something that she ought not to stick her nose into. The door opened not long afterwards, and a woman taller than Sierra strolled in with a Norwegian Forest cat daemon strolling alongside her. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail and her doe brown eyes blinked prettily as she walked into the lab.

' _Probably the mortician'_ Sierra thought as she looked down at her watch, ' _fifteen minutes late.'_

"Sorry I'm late," the woman rushed, "It wasn't my fault."

Her white lab coat glowed brightly in the artificial light, reminding Sierra of an angel. The coat billowed behind her like a curtain in the summer breeze as she lead in a brunette man-a little bit taller than John- sporting a brown collared polo and deep blue jeans.

Sierra's eyes traveled up to his face, which was overall donned with an olive complexion, a little stubble lining his jaw. His daemon, a Eurasian magpie, perched on his shoulder as he strolled along behind the woman. He wore a timid smile yet held a mischievous, self-assured glint in his dark brown eyes, their hue rivaling hers. She looked at them only for a moment before looking away towards the woman once more.

"Hey Sherlock, John." said the woman, "How about we have a go looksee at that body?" she caught sight of Sierra and smiled daintily before her eyes landed on Libertas. They grew wide as she took in Libertas and Sierra fought back the urge to frown. However, she recovered quickly and seemed to bounce right up to her with an outstretched hand.

"You must be S.S.A Sonora!" The woman said brightly, the pitch of her voice rising just a bit at the end. The agent stood up and clasped her hand into hers, and was surprised by just how strong her grip was, much like unto her own. She was starting to like her already.

"Yes, but please, call me Sierra," Sierra replied in her southern drawl. She gestured to Libertas who seemed to be grinning, "that's my buddy, Libertas. May I ask what your name is Ma'm?"

"Molly-Molly Hooper," answered Molly, slightly taken aback and pleased by the other woman's courtesies, "and this is Thabo. As you can see, I'm the mortician here." She giggled as Thabo waltzed over to Libertas and rubbed his head against her leg affectionately. Libertas thought about shying away, unused to another daemon's touch like her human was unused to another human's- but the sole act of showing so much kindness at first meeting won her over (and her human) and soon the two were conversing off to the side.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Molly." Sierra drawled. Molly sidestepped and allowed the man beside her to walk up to her as well.

"Hello," The man said, his voice striking a chord within her that kept her grounded in her spot, "my name is Jim Moriarty, and this is Kertoja. It's nice to meet you two."

Kertoja tilted her head and peered down at Sierra, her eyes searching the brunette's face for any potential signs of being a threat, but found none as the woman smiled gently up at her. The kindness in her smile surprised her a bit, but she covered it well as she pretended to groom her feathers.

"I'm guessing you're our I.T man?" Sierra joked, clearly that was the case as his name tag pinned against his breast gleamed in the light.

"Yep." He replied before offering a small 'hello' to both John and Sherlock and heading straight for the computer at her table.

"Well," Sherlock said impatiently, "are we going to stand around all day and chitchat or are we going to be able to examine your findings?"

"Ah, sorry, yes, after you." Molly replied, watching the duo walk ahead of them. When they passed her and Sierra, she shot the latter an eye roll and sloppy smile to which she snickered at. Sierra quickly shot Jim one last glance as he leaned close to the computer screen, trying to crack the ex-Navy soldier's password when he looked up unexpectedly and caught her eye. She offered a brief smile and quickly turned away once more before he could even smile back at her.

There was something about Jim's voice that wasn't settling right with her-it was familiar, and it made no sense that she would know it. Libertas casually bumped against her leg, refocusing the brunette back to the corpse laid out on a metal slab in front of them.

"So we've got a through and through," Molly explained as she pointed to the front of the skull. "The bullet your killer used smashed through the frontal bone and lobe before exiting through the occipital region of the skull."

"So our victim was on his knees." Sierra murmured.

"That would collaborate with the markings I found on his pants." Sherlock replied. Sierra nodded,

"What were his stomach contents?" She asked. Molly smiled and held up a small round container which held a greyish sort of fluid in it.

"He had remnants of Golgi berries, sunflower seeds, and peanuts." She explained.

"Energy food." John commented. As Sherlock turned to him he began to explain, "In war, we were kept on a high energy diet that involved those three things. They were easy to carry around and didn't go bad nearly as fast."

"So he brought the military life with him when he returned." Sierra noted.

"Any other findings?" Sherlock inquired. Molly nodded before reaching for the man's hands.

"He was a user."

"We determined that already," Sherlock replied impatiently, "Have you found any traces on the body?"

"Yes," Molly replied with an uplifted finger, unruffled by Sherlock's snappiness, "I found tissue samples in his teeth and sent them to Trace. They should have the information on your donor soon."

Sherlock nodded and smiled at her before turning to John, "Ready?"

"Ready for what?" John asked even as he nodded his head.

"To find our victim's car," the _'duh'_ was left out, but heavily implied, "His keys were on the hook but the car was nowhere near the house."

John smiled at Molly and Sierra before replying, "Alright, let's go."

At the door Sherlock turned to Sierra, "You're headed back to the victim's flat, correct?"

Sierra nodded, "I want to get a better idea of what his life was like."

Sherlock smiled slightly, "Call me if you find something."

She gave him a quick two finger salute before watching him and John exit the room.

"It was so nice meeting you!" Molly grinned at her as she stowed the body away in one of the many human sized filing cabinets. Sierra's eyes flicked over to her and she smiled,

"You too, Molly-Jim."

Jim, silent for the entire time, looked up at her from the laptop.

"Thanks." He replied after a beat before looking back down at the screen, "I'll phone you whenever I get through."

"Alright." Sierra replied, "See ya'll later."

WIP part here...

Name meanings:

Svavoĺny-(Willful) [Belarusian]

Thabo-(Happiness) [Sesotho]

Keadilan-(Justice) [Malay]

Forvitni-(Curiosity) [Icelandic]

Sonkei-(Respect) [Japanese]

Vyavasthā-(Law) [Nepali]

Nueva espana is Mexico in regards to Lyra's world map.


	4. Chapter 3

A Good Deed Never Goes Unpunished

Again, Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay into the future of this fic. Sierra meets Jim's attacking alter-Seamus Moriarty.

Sierra strolled out of the corner store, shamelessly ravishing a spicy cinnamon hard candy as Libertas trotted alongside her, her tongue lolling carelessly out of the corner of her mouth and her tail wagging. After giving in to a sudden urge for something sweet and spicy, the two of them had left John and Sherlock's flat to take a trip to the local convenient store and indulge a bit. As they enjoyed the mild midday weather, Sierra stole a glance at her daemon and smiled.

When Libertas acted like this, it made it more believable to others that she was an overgrown Samoyed, not an Arctic wolf. They had just enjoyed a nice chat with a friendly clerk and his German shepherd daemon inside, and although Libertas never talked about it, the daemonologist could feel how happy she was to encounter at least one daemon who wasn't too terribly afraid of her at first glance. She knew this well, because as the human of said daemon, she was feeling a bit relieved too.

They were walking across the span of the parking lot when Libertas' head turned to the right and perked up her ears in attentiveness. Sierra immediately turned as well to watch an elderly woman drop her shopping bags onto the ground as she tried opening the backseat to her Lincoln town car. The woman's daemon-a Ulysses butterfly- fluttered its wings helplessly as it danced around the woman's face, probably trying to comfort his human. She wondered vaguely if he felt frustrated at himself for the fact that he couldn't do much to assist his human.

Sierra took only one look at Libertas before the two jogged over and stopped in front of the woman as she tried to bend over to pick up her groceries.

"Ma'am? Can I help you?" Sierra asked, holding out a cautious hand and startling the woman into straightening out once more. The woman looked up from her mess on the asphalt floor, sadness in her eyes that instantly illuminated as she saw Sierra's face. She noted that her eyes were a piercing blue, its hue only a couple of shades lighter than her daemon's wings. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at Sierra's offer.

"Oh, why yes dear, I'd love that." She answered in a charming English accent, her daemon continuing to flutter about erratically. Sierra didn't think much of it, really. It was probably just happy. It wouldn't be till later that she would be able to reflect on its behavior-it wasn't happiness. It was nerves.

"No problem!" Sierra grinned, kneeling down and grabbing a couple of groceries. Before she grabbed the bag with the milk, a shadow stepped in front of her and Libertas growled. _Why would she be growling at the old woman?_

"L what's wrong-"

Sierra's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, a frown on her face and a sickening feeling twisting in her stomach as she looked up to stare into the barrel of a gun, her question cut short. Panic kicked in and her eyes immediately darted over to Libertas, who was currently being pinned down by what appeared to be a jaguar. Her heart clenched as she watched the jaguar bare its fangs down at Libertas' unprotected neck and she forced herself to look up into her hostage's eyes. The woman was nowhere in sight.

"What do you want?" Sierra muttered through gritted teeth. In this position it would be an unwise move to try and reach for her gun.

"Come with me." said the man, probably in his late thirties to early forties, based on the emerging wrinkles on his forehead and eyes, and the few silver streaks of fur that's starting to sprinkle the jaguar's backside. For a minute, she thought about withdrawing her gun, and even though she knew she was no pistol slinger like her granddad-

"Don't even think about it." the man warned, his tone sharp and this time Sierra obeyed without question, because right now she could see the jaguar trembling, waiting to just sink its teeth into Libertas' ivory hide.

She arose slowly, keeping her hands above her head and rolled her eyes as he took her gun away from her. He motioned with his gun for her to walk to the left and she did so begrudgingly, her eyes never leaving Libertas as the jaguar herded her along, the cat's fangs dangerously close to her daemon's rump as a clear warning: There will be no easy escape.

They reached a car in the matter of seconds- a limousine, really. She raised an eyebrow at the shiny, sleek car before she was pushed inside, the door slammed shut behind them. The two tumbled into the spacious car before Sierra looked up to find themselves surrounded by two burly men sitting in seats situated in front of them on their left and right.

She took notice with a grim smile that both men blatantly wielded pistols across their laps as their equally burly Snow leopard and Grey wolf daemons showed off their pearly whites towards her daemon, forcing them to sit down where they stood a little bent over.

Sierra complied quickly before grabbing Libertas and bringing her to lie down next to her on the enormous seats. She examined the pair of shiny, black leather shoes directly in front of her old, scuffed boots for a second, gauging their price and wondering just how dead she would be if she spat on them before raising her gaze to come face to face with her abductor.

She stared in shock, her mouth slightly agape as she took in the sight of a familiar pair brown eyes. He was situated in the middle between his two henchmen and dressed in an impeccable suit. A Mexican orange-kneed tarantula rested on his shoulder as if it belonged there, and seemed to be staring at them with an unreadable emotion from his shoulder.

"You're not Jim," Sierra blurted matter-of-factly as she pointed at the man in front of her, her eyes darting back and forth between the man who wore Jim's face and the daemon who did not look anything like a Eurasian magpie in her books, "Who are you?"

The man's dark eyes narrowed slightly as if it were his own way of smiling.

"You're correct," he said cheerfully, "My name is not Jim-it's Seamus. Seamus Moriarty," he gestured to the spider on his shoulder, "and this is Cahira. Hi." He smirked.

"You're twins." Sierra muttered to herself, before adding, "Jim never told me he had a twin."

"Yes, well, he's actually a triplet," Seamus lied easily enough with an exasperated sigh, "Although he likes to pretend we don't exist."

"Who's the third triplet?" Sierra asked, her eyes wandering about the cabin before resting back onto him. He wore an odd expression on his face-it seemed as if he was hesitant about telling her, but it only lasted for a second before a wide smile bloomed across his face.

"Why, that would be Richie." Seamus answered.

"Okay, well, you obviously know who I am." Sierra scratched at the back of her head and spared his two goons a glance, "so what do you want with me Mr. Moriarty?" she asked, her tone biting as she folded her arms across her chest.

Seamus tilted his head, an amused smile on his face, "Are you nervous?" he asked, leaning in just a tad before adding, "Feeling a bit defensive are we?"

"This is my most relaxed pose." Sierra deadpanned. It was true, but somehow it still made him laugh nonetheless.

"Please," Seamus said, seeming to have ignored her, "Mr. Moriarty was my father." He frowned before continuing, "I hated the man, actually. So call me 'Seamus'. None of Jim's friends get to meet me, you know. You should be honored."

' _Why do you hate your father? Was he never around? Did he beat you? Beat your mother?_ ' She thought, ' _what did he ever do to you to earn your hatred?'_ She quickly stopped herself and added,

' _Why do I even care?'_

Well, she did care about Jim, and if Jim's father wasn't a good man, then she did want to know.

She bit her lip in order to keep those questions to herself, opting to lock them away for another time, if there ever would be another time.

"Can I just call you 'Mo'?" she asked innocently, although Seamus could see the mischievous glint in her eyes. His eyes widened for just a millisecond before he gave a terse laugh, almost like a bark.

' _Taking that as a 'no' then…'_

"There's a reason why you've got me here," Sierra said, her tone low, "so enough with the games. Tell me what you want from me."

Seamus ignored her, although he had to admit that her no-nonsense attitude was rather commendable.

"Falling for that grandmother routine back there..." Seamus mused as he casually examined his nails, forcing her to look down at them as well. They seemed to be manicured, Sierra noted, and they looked so much like Jim's- before he continued, "It shows me that you have a big heart."

The corner of Sierra's mouth twitched up into a small snarl before she forced herself to relax. "So it did. My mistake." She said quietly, gently biting the bottom of her lip once more to keep her features in check. She had been so focused on someone else that she hadn't even noticed she had been watched, she was too busy to.

That woman she'd helped was long gone by now, she thought, probably indulging in money or whatever this Seamus guy was offering. It made her furious to know that there were people out there that would stoop so low as to trade a life for what? A couple of stacks of inked paper? Gold coins?

People these days.

"She wasn't doing it for monetary purposes," Cahira said, startling her from her thoughts and forcing her eyes to snap up to see her perched on Seamus' shoulder. Seamus' eyes widened a bit as he turned his head a fraction to see her there, as if he'd forgotten she had hitched a ride in the first place. The tarantula continued,

"The woman's husband had been kidnapped in order to force her into complying with us to bring you into our grasp." Cahira explained her voice hesitant as if she knew she shouldn't be talking but had decided to do it anyway, "She didn't want to do it, Sierra-Libertas. Please believe that."

Sierra sat in her seat, stunned into temporary silence while a part of her questioned whether or not Seamus himself had actually wanted to share that bit of information or not. What she had gathered from just the short time they had spent together, it seemed that Cahira was not one to associate with other daemons, let alone other humans. A strange sense of honor filled her chest as she dwelt on that fact.

"We believe you, Cahira." Libertas sighed, speaking up as well for the first time since they had set foot in the car. Sierra's hand wandered over to the nape of her neck and curled her hand into the ruff there, a soothing gesture they'd used since they were teenagers.

"I'm a charitable person," Seamus said, the small incident seemingly forgotten. He folded his hands in his lap, "I can make good for you. Like, for example let's take your mother-"

At the mentioning of her Mother Sierra's eyes darkened significantly, her jaw clenched shut and Libertas let out a low, warning growl, startling the other two animals to growl back at her in surprise as they had recently begun to tire, the car suddenly reverberating with the sounds of somewhat pissed off predators. Seamus blinked before addressing the two men, turning away from Sierra momentarily.

"If you don't control your daemons," he said in a deadly calm, "then I'll have to do it for you."

The snow leopard and the grey wolf snapped their muzzles closed and became silent almost instantaneously as their humans fidgeted for a second in their seats. Libertas stopped growling soon after, but kept her weary eyes trained on the two creatures.

"Good boys," Seamus cooed, his voice dripping in condensation before he turned his attention back to Sierra, a small frown on his face.

"I do apologize," he said with a sigh, "I hate to have to ignore my guests like that-It's awfully rude, isn't it? I'd say," he paused, glaring at the two men and for a second Sierra thought she saw the two predators flinch, "that it warrants for punishment. What do you think?"

"If that's how you feel, then so be it." Sierra replied, not giving a damn about the two men in the car. She forced herself not to think about their daemons-they must be willing to be as heartless as the way their humans were at this point, otherwise they wouldn't be here now. Seamus fought back the urge to grin as he noticed her genuine lack of empathy.

He paused a moment, watching her give a small shrug before continuing, "I could make her able to walk without pain-your mother, I mean. I could provide for the surgery."

Sierra's eyes narrowed once more and Jim watched as the hand in Libertas' fur clenched into a fist, the wolf's white fur rising just a bit.

"They have lived in pain for more than twenty years," Libertas snarled, "they can live with it a little further."

Sierra let her thoughts echo back to the times of her youth when she still lived with her Mother and Stepfather; her Mother's feisty and somewhat crass little Dik-Dik, and Don's lumbering, humorous black bear.

If there was one pair of daemon and human she thought was the funniest to study, it was her Mother and her daemon, Shinehah. They truly complemented each other; Mama's sweet and patient nature along with Shine's outspoken and temperamental attitude. Her Mother would get all kinds of looks when her daemon spoke out during social meetings-anyone looking at Shine's automatically (and foolishly) thought he was sweet and shy and kind like he looked, but the moment something biting was said to her Mother, Shinehah's retaliations cut through whatever conversation they were having short, often leaving the other person to apologize profusely for what they'd said.

She remembered her Mother walking through the door so many times calling out "We're back!" in a relieved, and exhausted voice while Shine bounded in yelling "I'm home, fools!" before claiming his customary spot on the couch.

She almost chuckled at that memory. Then came the next question.

"What about your father?" he inquired, leaning forward, bringing Cahira off her perch to cradle into his hands.

Libertas fought back the urge to bite this man in the jugular as Sierra stilled, feeling a dead, sinking weight fall on top of her chest as she forced herself to keep her hands on Libertas and not around Seamus' neck, his similar features to Jim be damned.

"I don't have a father," she said darkly, her tone almost mocking, "and if you knew about my Mother's pain, then I wouldn't have had to tell you." _'you wanted me to relive the memories, didn't you Seamus? Well, I won't.'_

"What if I told you I could tell you who killed him?" he said, his eyes twinkling like his daemons in the artificial light. A sickening feeling coiled itself into her stomach but Sierra ignored it, instead she leaned forward as well and sneered.

"He died in a work related accident," she clarified, "no one killed him."

"So your mother tells you, anyway." Seamus replied softly before leaning back into the seat.

' _He's lying. He has to be lying.'_

' _What if he's not?'_

' _He's LYING.'_

She couldn't fight off the feeling that he was right-that her Father had been murdered. It was something she never could come to grips with, and somehow Seamus knew it.

' _But this would explain everything.'_

She sat there quietly for a moment before shaking her head, "That wouldn't do, Mo." she said, ignoring his pointed glare. With her voice full of mockery and a rueful smile on her face, she continued, mindful that her Texas twang was starting to emerge with her anger, "You can't help the dead-only give em' more company. Ain't that right?"

Seamus watched her lean back in her seat, her hand carding through Libertas' fur gently and he clenched his jaw for a moment, a thoughtful look in his eyes that made her weary. He narrowed his eyes at her, probably set on intimidating her but she wasn't having any of it. It was already past twelve in the afternoon and she wanted to be home. Like, five minutes ago.

Sierra rolled her eyes, "don't try to intimidate me with those big, brown eyes of yours," she said tiredly, "it won't work on me- I've seen scarier." She almost shuddered as she thought about her Mother,

"Shoot, I've scared a couple of idiots, myself. So don't, you'll just be wasting your time-no offense."

He waved the insult away as if it was a fly, but by the way Cahira's hairs bristled in his hand she knew he'd taken offense. Maybe just a little and that thought in itself gave Sierra a sense of satisfaction _. 'This man was proud-a stab at his physical features would hurt, even just a bit.'_ The way the guards' daemons twitched their tails nervously told her they weren't used to people talking like that to their boss and she felt a pang of fear before she realized it wasn't fear, but hunger.

She reached into her coat pocket for her chocolate bar, watching as the guards lifted their weapons and their daemons growled dangerously at the two of them. Libertas, already aware of her intentions watched passively with her head on Sierra's thigh and rolled her eyes. Seamus watched too, and almost laughed as his boys put their weapons away when they saw she had only pulled out a bar of chocolate, their daemon's silencing almost immediately.

"So tense," she noted aloud in mock disappointment and watched as Seamus smirked.

"Chocolate?" he inquired, a hint of laughter beneath his words, "Really? At a time like this?"

"What?" she snapped, "I'm starving! You randomly stole me off the streets without offering me a single thing to eat here on your stupid limousine, so yes, _chocolate_." She said, she tore off a portion of the wrapping paper and broke off a piece to put in her mouth but stopped as she caught him staring.

"Oh my," she said dryly, "where are my manners? Would you care for one, Mo? I find chocolate to be quite addictive."

She offered the piece of chocolate, not really expecting him to take her up on the offer, so when he leaned forward she was pretty surprised to feel his fingers brushing against the palm of her hand as he took it. She tried not to shudder at the thought that those weren't Jim's hands, but they still-in a way unknown to her-gave her the same effect.

"Thank you." he said before popping two into his mouth. She caught herself staring for a moment at his oddly human behavior and looked away quickly.

"No problem," she mumbled. She ate a few more before offering another piece again, but this time he declined.

"I'll ask you one more time," Sierra said, her hand back on Libertas' neck, "what do you want from me?"  
"Information about Sherlock Holmes," Moriarty answered shortly.

"What could possibly be stopping you?" the brunette asked sarcastically as she gestured to the two goons beside her.

"What do you think?" Moriarty replied irritably, shooting her a sideways glare.

It didn't take a second before Libertas answered.

"You're meaning to tell us you can't get what you need because of pompous old Mycrosoft?" Libertas scoffed. Sierra burst into laughter at her daemon. Seamus blinked before a grin flashed across his face, once again reminding the two of a shark.

"I like you," he said as he crossed his legs, "you definitely are interesting."

"That's your stupidity. I'm not interesting." grumbled Sierra. She looked out the tinted window and mildly wondered how dark it really was outside.

"He thinks you're interesting too." Seamus commented off-handedly, not needing to give names, "I can see why he likes you."

She dared not move an inch.

Minutes ticked by in rhythm of Seamus' watch as he looked for any sort of response and came up frustratingly short.

"So will you help me?" Moriarty asked once again, his tone flat.

"What's in it for me?" she asked, shooting him a sideways glance.

"You haven't given me anything to entice you." he said matter-of-factly with a scowl.

"Think of something, then, since you're so brilliant! I'm done waiting around." Sierra muttered. In one fluid motion, Seamus pulled out a pistol from the pocket of his Westwood and pointed it at the woman across from him, his face blank,

"You think I'm brilliant?" he said, his tone almost endearing if he wouldn't have been holding a gun to her head.

Sierra felt Libertas stiffen underneath the palm of her hand but kept stroking her anyway, too afraid to lose her to stop. She fought down the fear and put up a brave front with a smile like she always did ever since she was little. This was her reaction to everything she feared, and so far, it never failed her.

"Killing me really won't help your cause," she said with a chuckle, "I'd hate to get your handsome suit filthy."

He flicked the safety off. The two men in the car froze too, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the snow leopard and grey wolf cower just a little at the sound.

Annoyance flared up inside her chest, annoyance about how this _bastard_ could dare think about pulling his gun out and essentially threaten Libertas, how Jim never told her about his Hyde-like twin brother, and before her daemon could stop her, Sierra had her hand wrapped around his wrist, her smile widening.

"Pull the trigger." she grinned while simultaneously screaming ' _don't, don't, don't'_ in her head, "Go ahead. But you still haven't asked me the _right_ question yet."

Seamus watched as Sierra's eyes darkened from dark brown to coal black in the matter of seconds and slightly wondered if she were human-a normal human. It was obvious she wasn't, given the fact that her daemon bore the exact gender as she did and statistics showed that same sex human –daemon relationships often produced gifted people. It would be a waste to kill her, now that he thought about it. He waited until Cahira crawled back up onto his shoulder before he slowly switched the gun to his right hand, put it back on safety, and stowed it away.

The predators growled at Sierra's hand still wrapped around his wrist but he held his right hand up and they stopped instantly. He stared down expectantly at her hand, waiting. Her hands were surprisingly cold, despite the warmth in the car. Maybe because of her daemon's species? That'd be interesting. Libertas let out a small whine as she watched Cahira flinch while Sierra slowly uncurled her fingers and pulled away, leaving crescent shaped tear marks into his flesh.

Before Seamus could say a word, she was looking up at his shoulder and putting her hand to her mouth.

"I'm sorry Cahira," Sierra blurted, her voice surprisingly sincere to his ears as she sighed, "I'm really sorry. I didn't want to hurt you."

Cahira shuddered from up on his shoulder, the sensation tickling his neck.

"I forgive you," Cahira answered, looking down at her left front leg, "we had it coming."

Sometimes Seamus just wanted to shove his daemon in a box and keep her there-he hated the fact that she actually talked to Sierra in the first place. It wasn't like her. The first time it happened she surprised him so badly that he almost shook her off his shoulder. Worst of all, Cahira was betraying him by telling them how they felt. He expected Sierra to be amused or gratified as he looked back at her, but was utterly thrown off when she wasn't. If anything, she looked somber.

"So what-"

"Ask me the right question." Sierra said tiredly, interrupting him without remorse. He was quiet for a moment, probably thinking, Sierra thought as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Finally he spoke.

"The O'Neilson case," he explained, "what is his current progress?"

Despite herself, Sierra smiled.

"Absolutely stumped, last time I checked. We still don't know why he was dishonorably discharged from the Navy, and I don't think we ever will. I was on my way back to see if I could chip in a bit by interviewing his old buddies in the service when you snatched me, you jerk." she said playfully. Libertas thumped her tail in agreement.

"It's Seamus." Seamus said, mildly amused.

"I prefer 'Jerk', Seamus."

"And you're sassy, Sierra," he retorted with a grin, "but at least I got you to say my name."

She rolled her eyes and mentally kicked herself. What was it with these Moriarty brothers and their need to win their tedious mind games?

"You're definitely sassy," Seamus continued, "maybe a little too sassy for any woman to be when so far away from protection."

Libertas huffed.

"She's got me." Libertas said, sitting up straight and emitting an air of authority as she straightened out to her full length which was still shorter than the Grey wolf. She was still a wolf-and wolves were still considered the Warrior's daemon. Sierra felt a wave of affection and passed it through their bond, watching the corner of Libertas' mouth turn up into a smile.

"I'm not made of sugar and spice, you know." Sierra said, resting her hand on Libertas' back.

"No kidding!" exclaimed Seamus with a short laugh, "I'd say you were made of piss and vinegar!"

Sierra shrugged, feeling mildly pleased, "I like to think I'm more of the combination of gunpowder and lead."

"Oooh," Seamus smirked, "feisty, aren't you?"

She could see the two men exchanging looks of uncertainty between themselves but didn't comment on it. Instead she continued.

"I am a Texan," she said wantonly with a lopsided grin, "and you're Irish. I have ancestry leading back to Ireland."

"Oh?" Cahira said, somewhat interested, but not enough to prod.

"Yep." Libertas answered proudly.

The four were quiet.

"So," Sierra said, gesturing to the two men and their daemons, "how do you keep your pets so quiet? I don't see a muzzle."

It was amazing how easy it was to feel relaxed around him, even after having a gun to her face. It should've scared her, but it didn't. She pinned it on the fact that he looked just like Jim, and acted a little like him too.

Seamus shrugged, but Sierra could see he was holding back a chuckle, "They've been well trained."

She caught the eye of one of the guards before he looked away.

"I see that." She noted. Her smile waned, and Seamus knew immediately that she wanted to ask a question.

"Go ahead and ask me." he said.

"What are you talking about?" Sierra scoffed, but there wasn't enough annoyance in her voice for it to be genuine. He shook his head,

"I can tell you want to ask me something, but are afraid to do so. Just ask me what it is."

She hesitated, "You've got so much at your disposal," she said slowly, "you've got CCTVs and people under you and yet you wanted information from _me_? Why?"

Jim's jaw clenched again, his eyes furious but they weren't focused on her-it was more like he was thinking of something that he didn't seem to want to agree with. Cahira shivered, turning away from Libertas for the first time since they entered the car and looking out the window instead.

' _Because it's always about you',_ he thought, ' _that's why. I wanted to see what was so special about you, because so far I had no idea what he saw in you.'_

' _That's interesting….'_ Sierra thought, watching the spider turn its undying gaze away from her daemon. An intense feeling of concern washed over her from her daemon, and before Sierra could stop her, Libertas was speaking.

"Are you alright, Seamus?" she asked, the concern obvious in her voice and Sierra scolded herself for letting Libertas speak out what she was feeling so quickly, especially when Libertas herself wasn't prone to betraying her so easily. She shot a glare at the white wolf, but it was ignored. She looked up at Seamus, a sheepish look on her face as she watched his face morph from 'angry' to 'confused' to somewhat 'pleased' in a matter of moments. When he spoke, he addressed Libertas.

"I'm fine, Libertas," he said, his voice light like the sound of tinkling bells. It confounded Sierra for a good five minutes, expecting his tone to darken again but it didn't.

"I'm fine," he said again, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at the two, "It's funny how receptive you are, Sierra. I didn't expect you to notice."

' _But now, I think I now know why.'_

"She always notices the people she finds interesting." Libertas said matter-of-factly.

"Libertas!" she hissed, her voice reprimanding but the wolf ignored her. Sierra could feel her face start to burn.

"So are you going to tell us, or what?" Libertas asked, tilting her head to the side in anticipation. Seamus sighed.

"Jim always talks about you," he explained, allowing Cahira to crawl off his shoulder and into his hand, "so Cahira wanted to meet you-"

"That's a half lie." Cahira scolded, jumping off his hand and onto his knee instead. For a moment Seamus reminded Sierra of a petulant child with the way he crossed his arms and pouted at the spider and she held back laughter.

"We both wanted to meet you. To see what all the fuss was about." Cahira explained.

"Oh." Sierra blushed, not sure what else to say, "Well, it's been a real.." she was going to say 'pleasure' but quickly changed her mind, "interesting experience, meeting you, and, uh, it's been good." She jumped out of her seat, ignoring the two men as they held their weapons at her and Libertas. Jim waved a hand and the men-as well as their daemons-backed off quickly.

"Well, we're leaving now," she announced, "um, it's late and all. So… Yeah."

She exited the car, careful to use the opposite hand she had used to retrieve DNA from Moriarty. Libertas turned back and smiled at Seamus and Cahira,

"She gets really flustered really easily," Libertas explained with a wink. Seamus laughed at the wolf and was mildly surprised when Sierra's head popped back into the car,

"Oh, and uh, Seamus?" she said with a tight smile.

The consulting criminal looked up at her.

"Can you please return my firearm now? I get a little cranky when we're forcibly separated." she asked, pointing to the gun in the man's hand as he stood next to the car door, his jaguar daemon oddly complacent now that she was leaving. Seamus nodded to the man and he immediately gave the gun back to her. After she finished stowing it away, she bent over to look at him once more.

"PS: When you figure out what you want to do to treat me, you know how to get to me-just, try a cell phone this time, okay? I don't want a repeat of today," she said, gesturing to the men and their daemons with a wild wave of her hand before continuing.

"Oh, and of course, I won't tell you my number, either. I'll just let you figure it out on your own, since you're quite brilliant." she said, and then paused, her face warming up by the minute as she realized the fact that she had just complemented him. She frowned as he reclined back into his seat, a smug look on his face before she slammed the door shut and continued her trek back home to the flat, changing her mind at the last minute to see what the boys were up to.

She found them in the foyer, John reading case files with Keadilan snuggling close to his thigh and Sherlock examining something under the microscope with Forvitni trying to sneak peeks from up on the table.

"Hey Sierra, welcome back." John said to her, a warm smile on his face.

"Hey buddy," she replied cheerfully as she made her way to their bathroom and came back out with a cue tip. She set to work with scrubbing under each nail and grabbed a paper bag from the kitchen.

"What have you been up to?" Keadilan asked the white wolf, opening one sleepy eye as he watched Sierra place the cuetip in the bag and roll up the top a bit.

"We were out for a stroll." Libertas replied as Sierra went to wash her hands in the kitchen sink, the wolf settling onto the rug next to the lion, much to Keadilan's delight. Sierra returned and placed the bag on the table next to Sherlock's microscope.

"And this is…?" he asked, seemingly uninterested as he kept his eyes focused on the microscope. However, she knew he was curious by the way Forvitni sniffed the bag.

"It's DNA." she replied as she took a seat and looked at what he was observing. It was a sample of the sawdust found in O'Neilson's flat.

"Aren't you going to tell us who's it is?" asked Forvitni, tilting her furry head to the side.

"It's from a guy we work with-you know, Jim? It's his twin's-Seamus." she explained.

Sherlock glanced up from the microscope at the name and stared hard at the bag.

"I wasn't aware he had a twin." He said slowly, processing the information.

"Actually, he's a triplet." Sierra corrected him, suddenly reminded of the mentioning of "Richie", probably short for "Richard".

How exactly did you get this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow up at her.

"Exactly?" said Libertas, raising her head off of her front paws, "he had his men force us into a limo where we ended up having a nice little _chat_."

"He pointed a gun to my face," Sierra said smoothly, although Sherlock could see her distress in the way Libertas' hackles raised for a second, "and I grabbed his wrist, clawing him. He let us go soon after." She sighed, "Jim never told me he had a brother."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, "And that bothers you?"

Did it bother her? She really didn't want it to, but before she could lie about it, Libertas beat her to it.

"That's utterly and completely _irrelevant_ ," Libertas answered sternly, getting up with a stretch as she followed her human out of the flat. Sherlock turned to John for clarification, wondering if he'd unintentionally hit a sore spot and watched as John shook his head.

"I think it's because she likes him." John said matter-of-factly with a soft, sad smile. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Oh God." He said before returning to the saw dust.

"My thoughts, exactly."


End file.
